II. Sambucus Canadensis. Elder.
Reading edition
BE COMPASSIONATE.
The wind blows cold—yon poor, old man
Seeks pity for his woe,
For naught hath he to bear him on,
Though a long, long way to go,
All houseless, homeless, weak and tired,
While friends are far away,
His clothes are tattered—locks are white—
Oh! pity him, I pray.
His wife is dead—his children gone,
He knoweth not where but far;
The sun’s bright light he seeth not,
Nor light of moon nor star.
For God hath taken sight away,
Hath bent him as you see;
And made his limbs as thin and weak
As those of a withered tree.
A very little from your wealth,
Some coppers more or few’r—
Will get him a morsel of bread to eat,
And cannot make you poor.
Give alms! the memory will be
A balm unto thy heart,
A spring to thy limbs—a sight to thine eye—
And joy to ne’er depart.
Oh! curl not thy proud lip, nor turn
Thy form away in pride;
As he is, you may be e’er long,
When woes of life betide.
Then as a wearied, blasted man,
From door to door you go—
You’ll think with tears of when you scorned
The humble blind man’s woe.